The inn door opens inconspicuously, the rays of the fading sun fleetingly shinging through the doorway before the visitor closes it behind him.
The man is short, somewhere around 5 ft tall, or he would be if a slight hunch didn't cause him to hunch over slightly. A thick and very unkempt beard hangs down from the recesses of his hood, which reaches down past his chest and sways slightly with each limping step as he walks slowly to the counter, a short, thick staff gripped tightly in an equally thick left hand.
The stranger reaches the bar and mutters something to Henry, who looks dubious, until the stranger reveals his right hand from the folds of his cloak. There is a glint of gold and Henry's eyes widen. He nods and hands the stranger a key. The stranger mutters something more, Henry nods againd and the strange man turns and limps quickly up the stairs and out of sight.
Muffled voices could barely be heard over the noise of the crowd inside The Bleeding Lute. If one had been listening, he would have heard people on the street yelling, one voice just bordering on baritone, yelling claims of thievery and the like, and another shrill, hurt sounding voice, shouting "But I never stole nothin' in my life!" This commotion lasted just a few moments, before the deeper voice was yelling "Where did the little pipsqueak get off to!"
The door to the inn opened. In stepped in what some people thought to be a child, the figure even got a few remarks of how he should come back when he was older. When one saw the ears though, people turned cautiously. This was not a child, but a Kender, a race many considered to be a curse upon the lands by the gods, who's sole purpose was to punish the wealthy and materially centered people. He wore a tan cloth vest, hand stitched by the looks of it. None of the lines were straight, it was barely held together by the thread poorly sewn in. His leggings were the same color and quality of work, and he wore pointed, dark brown leather shoes. His hair was to his shoulders, light brown, and he had the childlike expression, eyes large and full of wonder, that marked his race. Various pouches of all kinds were hanging from his belt, weighing it down so much that one had to wonder how it stayed around his waist. He walking cheerfully up to the bar, whistling a small tune to himself, and was dismayed to see he could barely see over the top of it. "Ummm....Excuse me." The bartender looked around, wondering who had spoken in such a voice, when he heard it again say "I'm down here." When he looked down, he saw the small Kender looking subdued, obviously bothered by his small stature. Sure, it came in handy for escaping in crowds, or between prison bars, but in situations like this... it was far from agreeable. He spoke again, "can I just have some water? I've been wandering an awful long time, and would you believe I've been accused of stealing and..." The kender rambled on, and the bartender turned to fetch some water, choosing to ingore him. Upon receiving his drink, he offered his small hand up to the man. "My name is Sandyring, but my friends call me Sandy." He turned around to view the crowd, when he noticed the song and clapped with enthusiasm. As he started moving towards the group, he could've sworn he heard someone behind him tell him to stop and pay for his drink, but decided it had to be directed to someone else.
A young Elven girl who looks to be in her early 20's arrives at the Inn late that night. She opens the door to the inn and stands there. The hood to her cloak is up hiding her features and her cloak is wrapped tightly around her as to hide something. She walks calmly to the bar and asks the bar maid Maria nicely for a drink "excuse me Maria?" she asks quietly but loud enough that her voice is carried over the music. "may i have a drink of Tea please?". then walks slowly to a empty table. As she is waiting for her Tea.. she looks around the inn and notices all different people in there. as she listen's to the music playing she closes her eyes to the music. there is something strange about the girl.. she is very quiet and does not talk very much.. liking to be on her own. so she can do some thinking.. the tea arrives and says thank you to maria "Thank you maria"
(OCC, my sort of first time in RPing. Hope this is ok?)
She leaves the tea untouched for the moment."erm maria" she asks with a smile "may i have some food please? "could i have the roast beef please?"
The strange, short man thumped his way up to the 2nd floor, entering the third room on the left. Closing and locking the door behind him, he pulls the curtains across the window and proceeds to lightly scratch shapes into the wood all around his room. As he finishes each one, it flashes briefly then melts away to nothing. Only when he has finished his rune casting does the stranger fling off his cloak onto the bed.
He spreads the cloak out, picking a medium size bag from on of the inside pockets. Opening it, he pulls out a dozen knives of all sorts of shapes and sizes, some large with smooth double edges, others that are smaller and jagged and others that are twisted into strange shapes; all covered in blood. He then pulls out a bowl and a towel, setting them on a nearby table.
Conjuring water up into the bowl, he sets about cleaning his weapons. There might be some in that rabble downstairs who would be able to sense his wards, but if they're strong enough to detect it then they should also be smart enough to recognize that it wouldn't be worth their trouble to try to come in.
A faint chuckle escapes out of the stranger as this thought crosses his mind. His mouth twitches slightly in the ghost of a smile, sending his various scars and birthmarks into sharp relief. He sets aside the first knife, his most precious out of this lot, 12 inches, straight and double edged, but hollow inside with a tiny hole in the tip to dispense out poison. A gift from long ago from...he couldn't even remember which monarch, lord or whatever.
As he reached for a second knife, the thought crossed his mind about food. He hadn't asked for food to be brought up so that meant he would have to venture downstairs again. He sighed in irritation, concentrating on his task.
It is early summer. This year was an unusually wet spring, and since the sun has been out the early crops have been flourishing. Strawberries should be on soon. Today was bright and sunny, and this evening is proving to be pleasantly cool with no clouds and a waxing moon.
The stage stands unoccupied.
Four tables have patrons seated around it.
The table in the back is occupied by an elderly half-elven druid wearing winestained clothing who has dark hair and an unusual face, and a depressed looking dwarf wearing dark blue clothing who has brown hair and a hard face. They are laughing quietly.
The table by the stage has a very tall halfling minstrel wearing dark clothing seated at it. She has red hair and a furtive face. She is counting coins.
A table in the middle of the room has five patrons seated at it: a tall female half-orc clerk wearing stained clothing with dark hair and a wrinkled face, an elderly human male wearing drab robes with pure white hair and a worried face, a male half-orc hawker wearing adventurers garb with dark brown hair and an apprehensive look, a youthful female human merchant wearing muddy clothing with brown hair and a deeply shadowed face, and a small male gnome scholar wearing non-descript clothing with matted hair and a hard face. They are all watching the door.
The last table has a heavily bandaged human wearing bloodstained clothing. She has obviously dyed black hair and a sweating face. She is waiting quietly.
Two old men sit at the end of bar. If you are a frequent patron, you recognize these two codgers as Waldorf and Statler. They often discuss current events, rumors, flirt with the bartender, trade jokes, and laugh unabashidly all in loud, disagreeable tones that leaves you wondering when they will tell you to get off their lawn, you damn kid!
Posted on 2012-08-24 at 14:40:34.
Edited on 2012-08-24 at 14:47:29 by Celeste
The door to the Bleeding Lute opened quite suddenly, startling some of the patrons who weren't expecting it. Standing in the door frame was a tall Half-Orc. Unlike most Half-Orcs, this one was clean-shaven, unscarred, and dressed in many flamboyant colours. He stood straight and a smile beamed from his face. Looking past the colourful get-up, one would notice a Lute strapped to his back, a Flute, Ocarina, and small Hand-Drum all attached to his belt.
With a large grin still on his face, the Half-Orc stepped inside the Inn and let the door close behind him. Taking a bow and looking up at the patrons he smiled once more. "Hello dear friends, my name is Tralen. Many know me as the travelling Maestro, and many more have enjoyed my music not realizing whom they heard. I hope to please you all with my music later tonight, but alas, I must rest my weary head after such a long travel." Finally standing, Tralen walks over to the bar and smiles to the barkeep. Sliding a gold coin onto the counter he eyes the other patrons. "I'll take one of your Roasted Mutton Pastries and an ale. I would also like a room for which to rest my head." Still smiling, Tralen takes a seat at the bar and rests his head in his hand.
Posted on 2012-08-25 at 00:26:14.
Edited on 2012-08-25 at 00:33:29 by Kamina
Shortly after the boisterous entrance of the Half-Orc Minstrel, the door opened again though this time it was slow and almost silent. The doorway was filled by a tall lean figure dressed from head to toe in black; dark leather armor covered the lower half of the figure and a hooded cape draped the upper half hiding the facial features.
The door closed slowly behind the person as they stood there for a moment taking in the room; after a few moments the figure moved slowly through the room drawing stares from a few of the patrons. Two visitors in so short a time, tonight was an unusual one.
The hooded figure stepped up to the bar, a gloved hand drew a gold coin from inside the cape and tossed it on the bar.
“Ale,” a feminine voice said in a commanding voice.
As the bartender poured a mug of ale, the figure sat and turned it’s head to survey the room and it’s occupants.
Anyone that studied the person in return, would see dark armored female, the contoured breast armor was confirmation that it was a female. A hilt of a longsword could be seen protruding from the cape; any other weapons were hidden beneath that long dark cape. The facial features were well hidden behind the deep hood, though a strand of silver hair protruded briefly before a gloved hand tucked the errant strand away.
When the ale came, the person lifted the mug and took a sip as they turned their back to the rest of the room.
Tralen turned his towards the newcomer who sat down at the bar as well. Looking the stranger over he noticed the longsword hidden under the cape, and the dark leather armour protecting, what he now noticed, a possibly young female. Now where did she come from, I never saw her on the road on the way here. Taking a bite out of the pastry as it arrived, Tralen's eyes lit up with the glee of a child lost in a candy store.
"Oh my!! Simply magnificent! Simply delicious! Swooning himself over to the newcomer, he sat down beside her. "Barkeep, get an order of this lovely pastry for this young woman here, she must be famished after a long journey! Ale just won't be enough to fill her up!
Smiling at the odd woman Tralen held out his hand towards her, offering to shake her hand. "My young lady, you must be so brave as to travel these lands armed with a simple longsword, oh yes, yes! Much more brave then poor Tralen. Still holding out his hand, Tralen stood up and bowed to the lady. "Pardon my intrusion but I must simply learn more about you! I could write a song in the honour of one so brave as yourself!
The hooded head turned slowly to face the Half-Orc as she spoke. At this range, he could see some faint features in the dark hood; silver hair framing a dark-skinned face with silver eyes peering back at him. The hood turned back to the bar, the person held the mug in their left hand where the right one dropping to their lap where it slipped inside the cape and stayed there.
“I can pay for my own food,” she said, her voice melodic and beautiful.
She didn’t offer a name or say anything else, instead she sat there tensely, waiting.
Tralen's eyes lit up at the response of the young woman, and he grinned again as he picked out some of her features under that dark hood.
"Ah well, if you're paying for your own food I highly recommend the Mutton Pastry, it is simply marvelous!" Reaching into his back pocket, Tralen pulled out a rolled up paper, then produced a quill from within his sleeve. Flashing another smile at the young woman he unrolled the parchment revealing a large list of different foods and locations.
"You see I am more than just a bard, I'm also somewhat of a travelling gourmet." He quickly scribbled down the name of the dish and beside it, wrote the name of the Inn. With a flick of the wrist, the quill vanished back into his sleeve, and he started to roll the parchment back up. Looking back to the woman Tralen smiled once more. "I would just love to learn more about you, maybe write a song about your adventures. But I must retire to my room for awhile and prepare a performance. May we speak again soon M'lady."
After standing up and bowing to the woman, Tralen took the key to his room and started up the stairs as he let his mind wander on to the theme of tonights performance.
The woman watched the man next to her as he wrote down something and then when he put it away and rose to go up to his room she visibly relaxed. She didn’t say anything to him, did nothing except watch him move up the stairs.
She looked back down at her drink for a minute and then pulled out another coin and put it on the counter.
“Mutton pastry,” she said in a low voice and then glanced around as if to see if anyone overheard her.
Once the pastry arrived she took a bite and nodded her approval, she kept glancing around as if looking for someone or something. She seemed on edge, ready to spring in action at any moment.
Tralen sat on the bed and laid his instruments out beside him. Looking at them, he decided that he shall use his lute tonight; It seemed fitting considering the name of the Inn.
Picking up the lute, he set in his lap and started tuning the strings. As he finished this he picked it up and played a quick little tune, something he learned from a human bard along the road.
"Hmph, seems my magic fingers still got it. Now what song shall I sing tonight... Maybe just play a melody?"
Tralen lost himself in thought for the next hour before getting up and stretching. "Well enough lollygagging, let's show these townsfolk a true Maestro!" He held the lute firmly in his hands and put on a grin as he started down the stairs.
An hour later, the hooded woman had finished her meal and had moved from the bar to a corner table that had become available. She was nursing another drink as she appeared to be just relaxing and watching those coming in and out and those already here.
Most of the people ignored her as just another strange traveler; it seemed this place attracted them like bees to honey. She seemed content to just sit and relax; it had been a long journey and a few drinks before retiring to her room were just what she needed. She had given the barkeep a couple more coins for a small room for the night; the key rested inside her pouch.
Her eyes were drawn to the strange Half-orc as he descended the stairs again. She shrank back more into the shadows of the corner hoping he wouldn’t ask her more questions about herself; it was a topic she was loath to talk about to a stranger.
A white-cloaked figure, hooded, slips in through the closing door after a bunch of other patrons, a leather shoulder satchel swinging behind. With a smooth yet solid movement, the figure slides onto a chair at a round table far from the stage and orders a drink from Hugh.
The figure never lowers the hood, but lowers their satchel to the ground beside the chair. Their wooden flagon of warmed spiced milk is quickly served, and a golden coin is handed over. Hugh nods, and the figure begins to drink occasional sips, seemingly waiting for someone to arrive.
Moments later a large, bald human enters the tavern, slamming the door open so hard that the whole tavern looks his way. Clad in dull plate stained with blood and mud, his chainmail rattles as he swings the door gently shut, ducking under the frame to avoid catching the tip of the spear strapped to his back. He laughs a hearty laugh before heading straight to the bar, almost catching a sitting patron with the pouches at his belt and the brown cloak on his back as he swings past. The stool creaks dangerously when he sits on it, and he downs his first tankard of ale, slamming the empty flagon on the table to order another.
"Good weather 'round here, makes a change, eh?" he boomed in a gruff yet arrogant and boisterous voice.
"Aye, had a lot less locals and a lot more travellers," the bartender smiled in reply, "What do you think of the ale?"
"I like it, but I'm no ale snob, so I like anything with hops and barley. Where's it from?"
"Local man, Ol' Tom, he makes it not three miles down the road. I can't stand the stuff, though the patrons seem to like it," Maria confessed.
"And tha's what matters, isn't it," Assal added with a final grin as he downed the second flagon, "Another, if you may," he finished as he pushes it towards Maria.
Posted on 2012-08-27 at 14:29:44.
Edited on 2012-09-02 at 08:36:45 by Darren